


Thirteen Strong

by zombified_queer



Category: Bugsnax (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Sequence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Thirteen Grumpuses come to start a better life. Thirteen Grumpuses go their separate ways.
Relationships: Eggabell Batternugget/Elizabert Megafig, Snorpy Fizzlebean/Chandlo Funkbun, Triffany Lottablog/Wambus Troubleham
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	Thirteen Strong

It's rough. Everyone is going to blame her for Lizbert getting swallowed by the earth. Because she's weak. Always has been. Always will be.

And that’s why she comes back in the dead of night, packs up only enough to make camp, and goes back up the mountain. She tells no one. Not that a lot of people would understand. They all see her as weak. 

"'m not weak," Eggabell mutters, finally getting the tent set up. "'m not soft-boiled."

It’s just her up here in the snow. Just her, the howl of the wind, and her own deep grief.

* * *

There is no way he's competent enough to lead everyone. He can barely get Wambus and Triffany to work together and they've been married for twenty years. There's no way Filbo can organize a unified town.

He's just not Elizabert. And he's not Eggabell.

He's a failure. 

As he gets the fire lit, he shivers. It's kind of cold tonight. And lonely. Everyone retreats to their own corners of Snaxburg for the night. Triffany's set up her sleeping bag in the research tent.

Filbo sighs.

It starts to rain. The fire he’s just lit is doused. Filbo Fiddlepie gives up.

* * *

It's been three days. No one's seen hide nor hair of Elizabert. Or Eggabell. There's no one to keep things nice and peaceful. 

No one to stop Gramble's kin from going missing in the middle of the night. 

Before, he could keep track. Lizbert would only ask for enough to get everyone by. Never more than necessary. Rationing.

But it's been three days and the barn is looking a little sparse. The stalls are empty. It's just Charwee and Sprout and a few other Snax. But they're not safe, not here, not in town.

Without a second thought, Gramble escapes.

* * *

Without Triffany, Wambus simply meandres on, farther away from their home together. There’s too much there to forget. The bed, the table, all their photos and shared tools. It hurts every time he comes inside after work.

The Grove and the Falls have promising soil. Nice and fertile and with Snax burrowing around. Things will grow here.

The sauce takes to the place like a weed. It's easier to eat than the pods in town. Softer. Juicer. No one to share them with, though.

Wambus grunts, tying the straw tight. The scarecrow goes up easily, post sunk in the soil.

* * *

He's trained people before. And Eggabell was particularly determined. But he fucked it up somewhere. If he could take it back, he'd turn Eggabell away and tell her not to worry about being in shape. 

But he can't take it back. All Chandlo can do now is live. 

And he does. He builds the cabin with Snorpy. They bicker only because they care about each other. There's no problem between the two of them that can't be solved by talking it out.

He’s strong, but Snorpy’s got all kinds of foresight. So Chandlo trusts him. It’s all he can do.

* * *

It's all he can do. Snorpy swallows down his secrets between bites of Charmellow or Cinnasnail. Every evening, Chandlo comes back with a new catch. 

Snorpy always feels guilty. Chandlo could get hurt. Chandlo could decide he's had enough. It would be all Snorpy's fault.

There is a lot to be afraid of out there. Shapes in the woods, feral things, Floofty. But Chandlo stays with Snorpy. Despite all the secrets and half-truths, Chandlo stays. Snorpy lets Chandlo test some of the prototypes, just a few that aren't too dangerous.

Chandlo makes sure Snorpy eats, giving Snorpy an earnest smile.

* * *

There is only so much she can sing about the ocean and it's depths and mysteries. Only so much she can write about sunsets that all goes to waste. It's too cliche. And a banjo is hardly a good substitute for a good surf guitar riff.

Wiggle spends time in the springs, soaking up the warmth and the sun. People pay fortunes for hot spring getaways like this.

She'd trade her left leg to be able to write something half as good as her single. Mediocrity scares her to her core. But mediocrity is all she has left these days.

* * *

The ruins are as fitting a place as any to reflect. There’s a pool of fresh water, so clean she could guzzle it. But the oasis never dries up.

Shelda settles under the heat of the sun.

Snaxburg is a lost cause. There is a toxin that runs deeper than any Bugsnak. It’s the sort of toxin that leaves behind monoliths and ruins. Civilizations gone in such a short time. 

Entropy is a natural state, Shelda reminds herself, settling into hours of meditation. Hunger is natural, an instinct so entrenched in every Grumpus. It’s raw. It reminds her she’s alive.

* * *

Beffica uses her Snaxscope like a telescope. That’s how she finds out Wambus is capable of crying. And then she feels bad, like she’s seen something she’s not supposed to. And she really wasn’t supposed to see it.

Once she’s sure he’s gone to bed for the night, Beffica makes her way down into the valley and then makes the climb up to the sauce patch. 

It was going nicely. Lots of plants, so ripe and full of sauce. Now they’re withered, trimmed back to just a few ketchup bushes and peanut butter plants. 

It’s not theft, she tells herself.

* * *

The volcanic cave is stiflingly hot. If they were a lesser Grumpus, this heat would pose a problem. But their paws aren’t soft, delicate things. They’re scarred and calloused with the claws trimmed back.

They kneel, thermometer in paw, and take readings of the lava flow. The glass shatters. 

When they attempt to take a sample in a metal container, the metal melts. It sloughs off into the superheated fondue. Useless.

Back at their field lab, Floofty picks shards of glass out of their paw pads with tweezers. The disinfectant stings. It’s better than letting it fester and becoming infected.

* * *

He's no Grump Scout troop leader, not anymore, but the lean-to should hold. Cromdo plops his sleeping bag down. It's not perfect but it's enough. It keeps the shade off him when he starts to feel overheated. It could do with some netting to keep those pesky Popticks out. But it’ll do for now.

There's not much to do here on the plateau. It's him. And his thoughts. 

Which is worse. Worse than Elizabert and Eggabell going missing. Worse than Beffica's stupid little stunt. It's even worse than being buried up to his horns in court fees and lawyer bills.

* * *

The ruins are everything she could have asked for. Everything except that little detail that makes her fur stand on end. There's war clubs buried with the bodies. They're heavy things, not meant for animals. 

They're built to murder other Grumpuses.

"Well," Triffany takes her brush, wiping away the dust, "I suppose we end up the same way no matter how you slice it."

Microcosm, she thinks. That small symbol of the wider problem. That's what Floofty might call all this, all the bones with head trauma and clubs splattered with centuries old blood. 

She shrugs, brushing the bones clean.

* * *

The Snaxsquatch is constantly restless. Lizbert can feel its need to devour. But she pulls the reins tighter. She sends fear through the Snax, like fungi communicating over miles and miles of forest. When they hear paws, they run.

It's not enough to be passive anymore. It does more harm than good.

The Snax are constantly trying to oust her, melt her down like scrap iron. But she fights because it's all she knows how to do. She knows Eggabell's out there somewhere. Filbo too. Everyone.

She has to keep them all safe. It’s all she knows how to do.


End file.
